


you ain't nothing but a hound dog

by quibbler



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Crack, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-09
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-02-24 16:28:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2588333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quibbler/pseuds/quibbler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jemma Simmons meets Leopold Fitz completely by accident, though it may have something to do with their dogs.</p><p>101 Dalmatians AU. Crack. Set in the 1960s.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [owlvsdove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlvsdove/gifts).



> I cannot believe I've written 2.6k of 101 Dalmatians AU. This is all [owlvsdove](http://archiveofourown.org/users/owlvsdove/pseuds/owlvsdove)/Juliana's fault.
> 
> Completely un-edited, pure crack. You better believe the title is Elvis Presley. I apologise for butchering of biology and genetics, as I am a chemical engineer who didn't take extensive courses on the subject and I've forgotten most of my biochemistry course. Also, it's completely impossible that this level of cloning would be possible in the 60s. Or that puppies pop out of machines. _Throw me a bone_.
> 
> PUN. INTENDED.

The sun is just peeking out behind the clouds and it's the nicest day that London has seen in some time, so Jemma Simmons decides she needs to set her books down and go for a walk in the park. She doesn't feel the need to dress in anything other than an old spring suit, still in good condition and hardly worn, the skirt not even a bit wrinkled when she removes it from her closet. Her dog Dorothy, an Irish Setter, sits at the door, patiently waiting for Jemma to snap on the leash before leaving her flat.

Jemma finds that taking a walk almost always clears her head. She has been putting almost 12 hours each day into researching the possibility of cloning, which seems so farfetched to the general public, but the world of science has been buzzing with potential breakthroughs. There have been successful clones at the cellular level and even in microorganisms, but she thinks that with the right modifications, something truly innovative could be done.

She loses herself in her thoughts again as she stands from a bench upon which she hardly remembers sitting and she nearly runs into at least three different people who must be thinking very unkind thoughts about the girl lost in the clouds.

It isn't until another dog's leash wraps around her legs and binds her to whom she presumes to be the rogue canine's owner that she snaps out of her reverie. "Oh my, what--" She loses her balance quickly and falls into the stranger, who procedes to topple onto the ground. Jemma lands squarely against the stranger's chest and she looks up, flustered and embarrassed and upset. "My goodness, I'm so sorry--"

"--no, no, it's all my fault. Well, Schrödinger's fault, really." Scottish, she thinks, quite surprised, with curly hair and blue eyes beneath straight brows. She quickly scrambles to get off of him, loosening her legs from the leash wrapped around them and standing. Reaching for her handkerchief, Jemma realises that it's dirty from the fall. "Please, take mine." She looks over to see him fishing out his before they both realise that it is equally as dirty as Jemma's.

They both start to laugh.

When Jemma manages to breathe properly, she tilts her head to one side. "Did you say Schrödinger? Is that your dog's name?" Her eyes flit toward the smaller dog sitting off to the side who is panting happily. "As in Edwin Schrödinger?"

He stares. "I'm glad you're familiar enough with him to know his first name." He looks very surprised but it makes him look so earnest and it makes her smile. "I'm Fitz. Well, Leopold Fitz, but no one calls me Leopold." He reaches out a hand and pauses before lifting the hand holding Schrödinger's leash to his neck, looking sheepish. "I think it might be too late to shake hands and exchange pleasantries now that my dog has ruined everything."

She laughs taking his hand in her gloved one. "Jemma Simmons. It's a pleasure to meet you." She lets go of his hand, gesturing toward Schrödinger. "May I?" Fitz nods and she bends down to scratch the dog under his chin. Schrödinger licks her fingers in thanks. "Part Beagle, I think?"

"Part Beagle, part Pomeranian, part I don't know what. And a complete and thorough rascal." He squats down and nudges his dog's side. "And your dog?"

Jemma beams. "Her name is Dorothy." She watches as his brows knit together and the brief thought that it's rather adorable flits through her mind and it is gone before she can react properly. "After Dorothy Hodgkin."

His face lights up in recognition. "The chemist! The one who just won a Nobel Prize for x-ray crystallography?"

"Yes! I call her Dot sometimes, though, if I'm feeling sluggish." She straightens, smoothing down her skirt as she watches him stand. "I believe we've got more in common than just our dogs."

\-----

It takes two years before Fitz proposes by hiding the ring along Dorothy's collar. The wedding is quiet and isolated, just the two of them, and they find a small townhouse in the heart of London. 1966 brings new possibilities for the sake of science and Fitz and Jemma are determined to present something so groundbreaking, so awe-inspiring, that perhaps it will win them a Nobel Prize.

Jemma lays out her research, adjusting her eyeglasses so they sit on the bridge of her nose rather than the tip to where they keep sliding. One hand rests against the side of Dorothy's ever-growing belly, her fingers toying idly with long, red fur. Schrödinger's head rests on Dorothy's neck. "Fitz, darling, if we manipulate the enzymes and receptor sites for restriction, maybe we could jump start the cloning process."

There is a loud crash from the back room and Jemma lifts her head, concern etched in her features. It takes approximately twenty-seven seconds for Fitz to appear in the doorway, looking frustrated and slightly dusty. "Sorry, Jemma, I didn't hear a single word you said."

She shakes her head, chuckling quietly. "Enzymes, receptor sites, restriction. It should help with the cloning process." She beckons him with one hand and he approaches, wiping at his forehead with the back of his hand and leaning down toward her. She reaches up to rub her thumb against a smudge of grease on his cheek, smiling fondly at him. "Were you toying with the replication device?"

He lets out a huff, one hand catching hers as she moves it and he presses a kiss to the back of her hand. "It's acting up again and we haven't even tested it on anything that wasn't a simple cell culture." He pouts and she giggles. Schrödinger lets out a low whine that seems to match his person's mood almost perfectly and it makes Jemma grin. She narrowly avoids rolling her eyes at her husband.

"Take a break, Fitzy." She pats the empty space next to her where the dogs aren't sprawled before she moves to stand up, straightening her blouse and skirt. "At the very least, look over our research again whilst I make tea."

\-----

On what should be a typical stormy night in London, something quite remarkable occurs in the Fitzsimmons house.

Fitz is waiting outside the kitchen, hands fidgeting violently with the yarn that Jemma has instructed him to separate into balls. He knots it no less than seven times within ten minutes and curses violently all the while. Schrödinger sits at his feet, head raised and eyes alert, looking ready to spring up at any moment. At least his dog is calmer than he is.

He briefly wonders if he'll be fidgeting this much if he and Jemma ever have children, but that is a thought for another time, so he stores it safely in the back of his mind.

A squeal of delight echoes faintly in the kitchen and Fitz can just hear it through the crack of the door. He freezes as though there was something physically stopping him from moving. "Jemma? Is everything all right?"

"Oh, Dorothy!" She sounds so delighted and Fitz smiles despite his nerves. "Yes, dear, everything is just wonderful!"

It takes another twenty minutes before the door swings wide open, startling Schrödinger, who jumps and yelps before trotting into the kitchen. Jemma quickly moves to the side before she exits the kitchen, a small bundle in her hands. "Fitz, we have fifteen puppies on our hands." Her hair is falling out of the elaborate hairstyle, sleeves rolled up to her elbows, cheeks flushed, and he thinks that he looks beautiful. She lifts the blanket to her line of sight, one finger poking gently in. "This little one was the last."

Fitz stands almost too quickly and nearly loses his balance with the sudden shift of his equilibrium. He catches himself just before he topples over and quickly crosses to where Jemma is standing, his gaze firmly set on her face, pink and smiling and he feels exceptionally lucky at that very moment. It takes a few seconds for him to look down at the little fuzzy puppy swaddled in a blanket in true Jemma fashion and he grins. "Schrödinger is a lucky dog. Look at this tiny thing."

"It's a puppy, Fitz, not a _thing_."

"I _know_ , Jemma."

\-----

The first experiment with the full functional replication device three weeks and two days after the arrival of the puppies successfully creates a carbon copy of a worm that Jemma picked up from the sidewalk after a respite from English rain. This is deemed a green light for future experimentation from Jemma and Fitz's bosses, even if it's a bit unorthodox to be conducting this sort of research in an unsanctioned work zone. They miss the lab, but they are well loved within the company, enough that the birth of 15 puppies is enough to earn them some time to stay home so long as they continue their study.

When the puppies are five weeks old, they look less like small pink rats and begin to look more like their parents. Their fur starts to come in--some have spots like their father and some are a shade of red lighter than their mother's, but Jemma is delighted all the same and starts naming them all. All of them get names rooted in science first, but Fitz and Jemma begin to refer to them with rather less creative names like Spot and Lucky, and those seem to stick. Dorothy watches carefully over her puppies as they crawl over her, stumbling and falling over each other.

"Fitz, they're precious." Fitz's arm is draped around Jemma's shoulder as she leans into him, the couch slightly weighed down by the two of them and Dorothy sprawled over the rest of the available space, watching as Schrödinger and the puppies fidget over the floor, sometimes watching the television screen and sometimes play fighting with each other. They're seven months old now and are starting to distinguish themselves in personality.

Fitz laughs as one of the puppies barrels into his ankle. It lets out an indignant howl before Fitz untangles himself from his wife, leaning down to pick up the offended pup. "Sparky, you little rascal." Fitz doesn't mean a single word of it as he sets Sparky down on his lap before ruffling the fur at Sparky's scruff with both hands. "You'll have to sit with your mum for your insubordination."

Jemma smiles. "That's not much of a punishment."

He grins, setting Sparky down next to Dorothy before wrapping his arm around Jemma once more. "I'm rather soft and we both have known this for quite some time."

She sighs, twisting so she can rest one hand against the back of his neck. "I know, and that's why I fell in love with you," she says, shaking her head before she leans in for a kiss.

\-----

They collect egg cells from Dorothy and marrow from Schrödinger's last veterinarian visit in preparation for what they hope is a successful cloning procedure. Jemma works long hours in the lab and Fitz tries to modify an exponential factor to speed up the cloning process in their replication device.

They are so close to shattering the world of genetics.

\-----

The device is ready one week and five days later, when there are puppies running around underfoot and Fitz has nearly died four times in the past hour when one runs just beneath where he was going to step or when one appears out of nowhere. He narrowly avoids cracking his jaw against a table and knocking over a lamp that was a wedding present, just manages to avoid punching a hole through the wall or sending a puppy flying.

Jemma is double- and triple-checking the modified cells and the cloning serum. It's very like her to fret over the smallest of details and it's very like Fitz to just want to get this over with already because science is comprised of approximately 75% mistakes, which is precisely why science is so fun. He pretends to tighten a screws around the machine while she mutters to herself about factors and pilot tests and DNA splicing, but she finally sets down her papers and Fitz peeks out from behind his invention, eagerly awaiting her direction. "I think... I think we're as ready as we'll ever be."

He grins. "I was hoping you'd say that."

She picks up the micro-syringe. The experiment has officially begun.

When she injects the additional DNA into the egg cell, it slowly begins to split into more and more cells and then she submerges it in the serum she and Fitz specifically developed for this purpose. She brings the petri dish to the machine, where Fitz gently scrapes the freshly created cells and places them into the receptacle.

He closes the door, fusses with buttons and switches and a minute later, both he and Jemma step back.

Ten minutes pass. The machine is still whirring and humming. "I think something's wrong with it," Jemma says, frowning.

Fitz shakes his head, his arms crossed over his chest. "There can't be. Not when the two of us have been working on this for the better part of two years, and we're the best the world's got. Call it undiscovered genius."

She rolls her eyes.

Twenty minutes pass. "There is definitely something wrong."

He opens his mouth to speak, but suddenly the machine stops. They freeze, not sure if this is a good sign or a very, very bad one. Maybe it will explode--they hadn't really discussed that possibility before--maybe it will be okay. Then the door opens. Something sounds suspiciously like a bark. Then barks over barks.

Five puppies tumble out of the machine.

Fitz and Jemma stare for a moment before he turns to her and wraps his arms around her, lifting her into the air with the force of his hug. She is laughing and her arms circle his shoulders before she kisses him soundly.

They are barely paying attention when the machine starts up and five more puppies are spit out onto the wood flooring.

"Oh, bollocks."

Fitz scrambles over the puppies, rushing for the control panel in the back of the machine. "Jemma! It's bloody _jammed_."

Jemma is frozen in shock as another five puppies appear. "Fitz--Fitz, what is happening? What did you do?!"

"What did I do?! Jemma, did you amplify the replication gene without a STOP codon?!"

Five puppies exit the machine every three minutes. Fitz has no way of fixing the machine without risking injury to whatever life might be formed within it, and even if there was no risk, any repair would take quite some time. They should have realised something was wrong when five puppies appeared the first time. It was only supposed to be one, but they had been too caught up in the giddy excitement following a successful experiment that the grievous error had been completely overlooked.

Precisely fifty-one minutes later, when Fitz and Jemma are nearly in tears and really hoping the machine is done, it spits out one last puppy before something sparks and it short-circuits.

Jemma is sitting on the floor with her back against the wall, her legs stretched in front of her as puppies crawl over them, licking her fingers and jumping into her lap. "One hundred and one puppies, Fitz, including our fifteen." She is normally verbose but she appears to be at a loss for words. Fitz shoos away puppies from the space beside her and sits down, one arm hugging his knees, his other hand lacing together with hers. He stays silent.

They sit there for a full ten minutes before he pipes up. "I suppose this means we'll be spending quite a bit more time at home than we expected."


	2. exuberance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grant Ward's perspective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was previously posted to Tumblr, but I thought I should add it to the AO3 story!

His area of business collides strangely with a field of science about which he knows so very little. Ward reads the articles and presents findings like he was the one conducting the studies and most people take his word for it. Boston is what he calls home but he flies so often that it feels like more of a rest stop than home.

Ward has turned the chore of packing light into an art form. His suitcase is small, clothing and toiletries rolled neatly and tightly with enough room to spare if anyone were to ask for souvenirs.

Not that they ever do. No one in his life would bother.

He has friends in most cities. It's part of the job, he supposes, and since he's in London so often, he goes out to have drinks with a few of the scientists at the London branch. Leopold Fitz and Jemma Simmons are eccentric and brilliant and totally enamoured with each other and their research is the only scientific topic he'll tolerate while slightly inebriated.

When they call to tell him that they've gotten married, he congratulates them heartily and sends them several extravagant wedding presents, including an industrial refrigerator for their in-house lab that may not be a reality but soon will be. When they call several weeks later to tell him that their dogs are having puppies, he lights up and tells them both that the next time he's in London, he'll stop by for a visit. He sends enough dog food to presumably last them several months and several boxes filled with toys.

Despite his usually frequent trips to London, it takes another three months before he is schedule for a series of business meetings in England, but when he gets the email from his boss, he answers promptly to confirm. His suitcase is packed that night and when he flies out, he is really quite excited to see the new puppies.

The next day, he takes a cab to their residence but finds it occupied by someone who is distinctly not a shorter man with curly hair or a woman who bounces on her heels when she talks about biology and chemistry. He makes his way back to his hotel and asks the front desk to connect to the operator, who redirects the call.

"Hello?" There's a fair amount of barking in the background as Jemma answers.

"Jemma? It's me, Grant. Have you moved?"

"Oh!" More barks. "Hello, Grant! Are you in London, then? Blast, I knew we forgot something. Yes, we had to move... Extenuating circumstances. Do you have a pen?"

Jemma gives him a new address that is significantly further away from his hotel and he stares at it when he hangs up, puzzled. The next cab driver takes his confusion in stride and drops him off in front of a small house. He walks up to the front door and knocks.

There's the telltale sound of footsteps and more barking than sounds entirely necessary. The door opens--

\--and Ward is barrelled over by puppies.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Grant! Off, you rascals." Jemma is shouting and trying her best to rein in the twenty-odd puppies that are sitting atop him.

Ward has never been happier in his entire life.

No less than four puppies are licking his face. "No, no, it's okay! Hi there, little guys." When did his voice go up about two octaves? In the last thirty seconds, he assumes, and he is strangely okay with it. "Holy--Jemma, how many puppies are there?"

The door shuts behind him and Jemma is pressed flat against it, looking harried as Dorothy trots over, herding the lot away from the door. "Er... Well, funny story, that. Dorothy had 15 puppies."

Ward manages to sit up and counts the distinct wagging tails around him. "There are 23 puppies right here. That can't be right."

"JEMMA, IS THAT WARD?" Fitz comes stumbling into the front hall, tripping over even more puppies. Ward feels lightheaded with giddiness. "Hello, old chap!"

"Fitz," he says by way of greeting. "This is much more than 15 puppies." He tries to at least get inside the door, which is no small feat but he manages it. Somehow.

"Oh, didn't Jemma tell you?"

She rolls her eyes at her husband. "I was in the middle of telling him before you interrupted."

He makes his way over to press a kiss to her forehead. "There was a bit of a science experiment gone wrong and, erm, there are now 101 puppies in this house."

Jemma grins. "102, if you count Fitz." Fitz pouts and Jemma's shoulders shake with laughter, leaning in to kiss him.

Ward sees even more puppies coming toward him. "You know, I think I'm going to call the airline to reschedule my flight home. There's not that much going on at work anyway." This is a blatant lie. There is so much going on, especially if someone will be giving a presentation on this experiment gone terribly, terribly right.

He hears something about cloning and a mechanical malfunction somewhere in their babbling and bickering, but Ward is far more concerned with how many puppies are in this house. It's certainly bigger than their last place, but it's just too big for 15 puppies. Now they have 101 and it seems like the floor is just one giant mat of fur. "Do you have a yard?"

Fitz looks up from the discussion, surprised. "Of course. It's the main reason why we got this place, although we had to stretch our pocketbooks a bit."

They talk some before disappearing into the kitchen to bring out tea and scones. Ward scratches one puppy behind the ears. "Well, this won't do, will it?"

\-----

Ward visits the next day immediately after a slew of meetings, bringing dinner for the three people in the house and a change of clothing so his dress pants don't get dog hair all over them. He stays long enough that the streets start to come back to life with night business, so he returns to his hotel.

It's just past the first week when he shows up to the Fitzsimmons house and Jemma is beaming and Fitz looks on the verge of tears. "I'm expecting," she announces, and Ward picks her up in a hug, spinning her around. He hugs Fitz so hard his friend's spine cracks.

That night, he calls his boss asking for an immediate transfer to the London branch. It's not that he isn't needed back in Boston, but London has been asking to have him transferred for ages anyway, so maybe this was the sign he needed.

(The sign was 101 puppies calling Ward's name in cute little barks.)

He gets confirmation the next day and is asked if he can make the move in 2 weeks. "I can start tomorrow." He gets his maid to send as many of his belongings as possible and pays her a sizable sum for spontaneously putting her out of a job. He promises her a glowing recommendation, wherever she might apply next.

He shows up on the Fitzsimmons' front porch, an envelope wrapped up in ribbon in his hands. He calls it a congratulatory present for starting a family that doesn't consist entirely of four-legged creatures, but it's a joke. He couldn't be happier than if he had a family of four-legged creatures.

When they see the deed to a much larger house, Fitz nearly faints.

(Skye visits one day after the baby is born to meet the little darling and frowns as she watches several overgrown puppies chasing someone. "Did you hire a grown man to be your nanny?"

Fitz shrugs and Jemma chuckles. "Actually, Grant very willingly volunteered himself.")


End file.
